Redemption
by mahc
Summary: JED-ABBEY Story One in "No Syringe" Series: But Abbey wasn't there, and he was on his own. Completely. No one stood with him. Not Leo, not C.J., not Toby, not Will, not Russell.


Last Wednesday's episode triggered this idea, so I took a break from "No Heavier Burden" and "A Dagger Unseen" to write it. Hope you don't mind. This is a stand-alone.  
  
POV: Jed Spoilers: "Disaster Relief;" "Separation of Powers;" "Shutdown" Rating: PG Disclaimer: Jed and Abbey are not my characters, but I wish they were. Then I could let them do what I want them to do on the show!  
  
Redemption A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
He wasn't sure exactly why he was so flippant, why he didn't really care that he had actually shut down the government of the United States for three days. No, that wasn't quite right; he did care. He cared about the people sitting at home wondering when they might expect a social security check. He cared about everyone who had been affected by the standoff.  
  
He had shut down the government, but he hadn't done it alone. He had compromised, even surrendered, too much and Haffley had simply taken one too many chances that the President would give in again.  
  
Leo tried to convince him, tried to pry him away from his stubborn, illogical stand. But even the chief of staff fell short of his usual persuasiveness.  
  
Haffley had drawn the line. And Jed Bartlet had stepped over it.  
  
"I took his vice president," he had told Leo. "I dropped my stimulus package, my college tuition tax credit." Where would it stop? Harry Truman's famous motto had to mean something sometime.  
  
This was the time.  
  
And so he did the only thing he could in such a moment. He made a sandwich. Alone. In the Residence kitchen. The President of the United States spread peanut butter over a piece of white bread and pondered what to do next.  
  
What if Haffley never gave in? What if they wrecked the economy with their billion dollar game of chicken? What if Leo finally decided he had lost his mind and negotiated a deal around him? He knew they all wondered about him, all doubted his sanity. C.J. had confronted him about losing focus. Did she think he had lost his senses, too? Had he? Had his sheer guilt and loneliness twisted his judgment so severely that he couldn't see the illogic in his actions? If Abbey were there would she kick his ass and tell him to starting thinking again?  
  
But Abbey wasn't there, and he was on his own. Completely. No one stood with him. Not Leo, not C.J., not Toby, not Will, not Russell. Still, deep down, he knew it was the only thing he could do. If he didn't make a stand now, he would never make one again. There would not be another day, despite what Leo said.  
  
This was the day.  
  
So he would eat his sandwich alone and wait.  
  
"A bit desperate, Jed. Shutting down the government just to get me back here."  
  
His head snapped around involuntarily at the voice, so familiar, yet so foreign, and he could not have been more shocked if the Speaker of the House himself had appeared in his kitchen, offering complete concession to all contested points. He stood for a beat, staring in disbelief, anticipating the slash of words he had experienced the last time they actually spoke. But he saw that this was not the bitter Abbey anymore, not the woman who could barely look at him, the woman who stalked away from him in disgust, in wrath. This was saucy Abbey, teasing Abbey. God, he had missed her. There was a moment, before his brain regained control of his muscles, that he almost dropped the knife and bread and lunged for her to drag her into his arms, to confess his guilt, to sob out an apology for everything.  
  
But she was playing it cool, so he reigned in his impulse and fell into the rhythm she had established.  
  
"Apparently it worked," he threw back in the same mood.  
  
She sauntered in, tossing her coat carelessly into a chair. He tried to read her, decided that she had forgiven him, at least enough to tolerate his presence again. When Charlie had alerted him that her motorcade was arriving, he ran the gamut of emotion, racing through scenarios of what he wanted to say, of how he should greet her after so long. But minutes passed, then half an hour, then almost an hour, and she didn't show, and he figured he had been bypassed altogether. Resigned, he had pushed to the kitchen to deal with another cruel slap. Alone, as he had been for over four months.  
  
Suddenly, there she was.  
  
"Peanut butter and jelly? That's what you're having for dinner?" Just like that. An innocent observation, a casual dip into the peanut butter, and she was opening the refrigerator as if she had never left.  
  
"You sound stuffy."  
  
Of course, she would hear that, would sense the cold immediately. But, while it might have irritated him before, it warmed him now to hear the concern in her voice. Still making the sandwich, not trusting himself to look at her too long, he played down the congestion and threw focus on something else.  
  
"Where ya' been?"  
  
"Downstairs in your War Room, which I noticed you were not in."  
  
He chanced a glimpse, then turned back quickly before he ruined everything by giving in to that urge again.  
  
"What happened?" she wondered. "Lose your temper?" Now that was the pot calling the kettle black, he decided, but wisely chose not to make the observation verbally.  
  
Instead, he answered simply, "Haffley reneged on a deal."  
  
Her eyes held him as she sat. The irony of that statement was not lost on him. Deal reneging was something she knew well, thanks to him. But she stayed away from the obvious line.  
  
After a beat, she said, "So now you're just sitting up here waiting for what, exactly?"  
  
He didn't answer. Wasn't sure he had one.  
  
Then she surprised him. "Your staff wants to bring you an offer."  
  
He looked up. "Haffley came to us with a deal?"  
  
But she cut her eyes away, and he realized instantly what had happened. Slamming down his hand, he swore, "Damn it, I told Leo no! Did he go ahead and contact the leader - "  
  
"Don't be so dramatic," she admonished, not looking directly at him, her voice the one he had heard many times when she dealt with their own hormonal teenagers. "They don't understand what you want them to do." Now she looked. "Do you know what you want them to do?"  
  
Touche'. He dropped his gaze at her pointed question. Did he?  
  
Rather than answer, he found himself wondering how long she would be there and asked as innocently as possible, hoping it sounded nonchalant, even though it wasn't.  
  
"It depends on how long it takes your damn government to get up and running."  
  
In that case, he'd keep it shut down forever.  
  
They ate a bit in silence, and he tried again to quell the urge to reach over and kiss her, knowing if she ever let him start, he wouldn't be able to stop.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"Hmm?" He tried to play it cool.  
  
"Where's Josh?"  
  
Josh. Josh, who had screwed up big time. Josh, whose hard line stand had lost them the majority in the Senate. Josh, who had been exiled to his own office.  
  
Josh, whose impulsive passion was the catalyst he needed.  
  
She had pegged it, within the first few minutes of being back, she had read the situation and him and provided the answer he needed. No one stood with him.  
  
It was time to give Josh a chance to.  
  
He didn't respond in words, but knew his expression told her what she wanted to know. Tomorrow, Josh would find redemption.  
  
He wondered if it was possible for him to find it, as well.  
  
He chewed on the sandwich, not really tasting it, partly because of the cold, mostly because of her. She spooned the yogurt into her mouth, and he had to force his eyes away. Was she being deliberately seductive, or had it just been so long that he saw anything she did as sexy? Hell, he always saw anything she did as sexy.  
  
His brain prodded him to say something, cautioned him not to yell it over the pounding of his heart, but to do it. Do it! Either that, or sit there forever and maybe watch her slip away again.  
  
Swallowing the bite and washing it down with a gulp of milk, he braced himself and said, not looking at her, "I missed you."  
  
The opening. The olive branch. But would she take it?  
  
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound for several seconds. She paused with the yogurt in one hand, spoon in the other, mouth pursed, not meeting his eyes, either.  
  
And he realized with a horrible jolt to his stomach that he had ruined it. Dear God, he had blown the chance. Better just to let things pick back up gradually, not to address anything painful. Let her set the pace. But no, he had been impatient. Damn it.  
  
He set down the remainder of his sandwich, no longer hungry, and took a breath to steady himself, ready to move, to draw away from her in case she needed more distance, to pull back before she could tell him to go to hell.  
  
Then it came. Quietly, but firmly. "I missed you, too, jackass."  
  
His eyes closed from the impact of her proclamation. His heart slammed against his chest. The breath let out slowly. Now he turned his face to her, to look at her, and found her eyes on him, as well. And past any disappointment, past any anger, he saw the love.  
  
And it was enough.  
  
Fighting the sting of tears, he nodded once, his throat tightening when she reached out and covered his hand with hers. His body pushed him to fall before her, to bury his head against her breasts, to pour out the months of pain, of agony, of guilt that had poisoned him. He was dizzy with the need to cleanse himself, to purge his soul of the darkness that had permeated it since she left.  
  
But the only outward symptom of his inner churning was a sight trembling in his hand beneath hers. She smiled and nodded back. Later they would talk. Later they would lie together and relearn their bodies, and let the physical release bond them again. Later they would open the door and address the pain they had caused each other. Later his redemption would be complete.  
  
Later. But not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But later.  
  
And that was enough.  
  
"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance."  
  
Richard von Weizsacker, President of West Germany May 12, 1985 


End file.
